


The Man in the Iron Mask

by Luka



Series: Firestorm [3]
Category: Primeval
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Nick's life feels like it's collapsing around him.





	The Man in the Iron Mask

**Author's Note:**

> The third story in the Firestorm series, which follows on from the Iceman sequence. Jon Lyle and the rest of the SF lads appear by kind permission of Fredbassett.

The nights were the worst. As soon as he closed his eyes he could see the blood. So much blood. Captain Ryan's and the three dead soldiers. The line from Macbeth, which he'd studied so long ago at school, was on repeat in his brain: "Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him."

Claudia no longer stayed overnight with him now. She'd wanted to, begging him not to push her away, but he was adamant. He'd screwed up too many people's lives already. And he couldn't bear the look of pity in her eyes.

The telephone rang. Nick ignored it, as he'd done for the past few months. Colleagues were rapidly learning that if they wanted him, they had to come and find him. There was no guarantee he'd talk to them, though.

The campus clock struck midnight. It was probably the caretakers on the phone, trying to get him to go home. Some nights he didn't bother – he simply unrolled his sleeping bag and curled up in the corner of the office. If he couldn't sleep, he could reach out for a book. He had everything he needed in his office – his papers, a kettle to make coffee, a toaster and a tiny fridge for the toast and cereal he lived on. But he no longer had Stephen.

Nick glanced at his email inbox. There were 2,472 unread messages. At the top was one from Claudia.

_Dear Nick. I found this site that you might find useful. Please read it and take it seriously. I am always here for you. Love Claudia._

He clicked on the link and swore when he saw where it had taken him. He grabbed the phone and dialled a number. It rang for some minutes before a voice, clearly roused from sleep, answered.

"Why did you send me this, Claudia?"

"Nick, it's gone midnight …"

"Why, Claudia?" He knew he was shouting, but he couldn't help himself.

"Because you need to read it."

"Bollocks, I don't."

"Nick, please don't shout at me. Post-traumatic stress disorder is serious and needs professional help. You know I'll come to the doctor with you anytime you want."

"You're saying I'm cracking up?"

"I'm not saying that at all. But you've gone through a lot the past few months and it's no weakness to admit you need help. You're drinking too much and you've lost weight …"

"Keep your nose out of my affairs, Claudia Brown." He slammed the phone down and hurled his coffee cup at the wall, not flinching as a sharp shard of pottery embedded itself in his arm. He pulled it out, watching a trickle of blood run down and soak into an application for research funding that was due in the next day. He rubbed fiercely at the bloodstain, then looked up guiltily, just waiting for Stephen to tut loudly and take the form off him. But the empty desk opposite seemed to taunt him. Nick pillowed his head on his arms and closed his eyes, trying to blank out the darkness around him.

~*~*~*

The new research assistant was called Toby and had a braying, upper class whine that could be heard in the next county. Nick was sure he was the Dean's revenge. Toby had been to Eton and Durham, and was dim as fuck. He played real tennis with Prince Edward, and fancied himself as a cricketer. Nick could hear his own accent thickening every time he dealt with the little bore. The only consolation was that Lester had stamped hard and fast on the Dean's request to include Toby "on your top-secret Home Office gubbins." Nick had heard on the grapevine that Toby the Twat was the Dean's nephew by marriage, and that Mrs Dean doted on the little git. He fully believed that. And he was grateful that this move to the purpose-built research centre looked to be on the cards within the next month. He never thought he'd say it, but he couldn't wait to leave the university.

~*~*~*

Nick looked blankly at the receipt in front of him. He hadn't donated £100 to the Gloucestershire Air Ambulance, so why had they sent him a thank-you letter? He pushed it under the pile of paper on his desk and carried on with a report for Lester that was a fortnight overdue.

All became clear a few days later when he opened an envelope addressed to him in unfamiliar handwriting. The writing was firm and neat, and the note short and to the point:

_Dear Nick_

_Thank you for the cheque you sent to Stephen and I on the occasion of our civil partnership. We have decided to donate money to the Gloucestershire Air Ambulance._

_Kind regards_

_Tom Ryan_

Nick stared at the note and rubbed his eyes. What Ryan didn't say was that the air ambulance had saved his life after Nick had left him to die. And the note was signed only from Ryan. Suddenly he picked up his mobile phone, scrolled through and hit dial. It rang for about half a minute before an even, calm voice said: "Hello, Nick."

"Hello To… Ryan. I … Thank you for your note."

"I wanted to let you know that we'd received your cheque and that we'd donated the money to charity. Thank you for thinking of us."

"I think of you both all the time." The words had tumbled out before he could stop them. There was a silence and Nick said: "I'm sorry … I know neither of you will be able to forgive me for what I did …"

"Nick, what happened to me wasn't your fault. There's no way you could ever have found a pulse. It took Ditzy long enough."

"Stephen thinks it's my fault, though …"

"He needs time to deal with everything that's happened in his life."

"I know … I miss him like hell. And I understand why he won't reply to my emails. But I want him to know I miss him … Will you tell him …?"

"I don't know, Nick. Let me think about it. He's been through a lot and he needs to put everything that's happened behind him."

"Is he OK, though?"

"He's fine, thank you. Working too hard to get our new business off the ground while I'm laid up at home."

"I thought you were …"

"I've had a couple of plastic surgery operations, which is why I'm currently not at work."

"They went OK?"

"Yes thank you."

"Tom, please take good care of Stephen. And of yourself …" The first name was out before he could stop himself, but Ryan made no comment.

"I will. Goodbye, Nick."

Nick stared at the photo on his desk of Stephen and Ryan. After a lot of heart-searching, he'd asked Connor for one from the ceremony, knowing the student would have taken some. Connor had clearly been uneasy about the request, but couldn't seem to come up with a reason to refuse. So he'd emailed Nick one he'd taken.

It had obviously been taken just after the ceremony in the bower in the corner of the grounds. Ryan and Stephen had turned round to the guests. Ryan, his face hideously scarred, was in his uniform, clearly in pain but standing resolutely upright, his arm round Stephen's waist. And Stephen … He was smiling. Really smiling, something he rarely did. And the love and pride in his eyes as he looked at Ryan made Nick, who never cried, scrub at his damp cheeks. Nick had never seen Stephen dressed smartly before, but he looked like a model off a catwalk in black trousers, a green shirt that shimmered as if it was silk and a black waistcoat with an upright collar. 

"Oh for heaven's sake, Nick, pull yourself together …" Helen was leaning against the door frame, a rucksack slung casually over one shoulder.

"Go away, Helen."

"That's not very welcoming."

"I'm not in the mood for you playing silly fuckers. And you must be crazy, turning up here."

She shrugged and smiled. "Living dangerously is fun, but then you wouldn't know about that."

"Living dangerously loses its appeal when people are killed or badly injured."

"They were soldiers. They knew the risks when they joined up."

"So they were expendable?"

"I didn't say that. Captain Ryan was lucky, especially considering your disappearing act. And you also get shot of the emotional vampire who gets his fairytale ending with his not-as-handsome-as-he-once-was prince."

Nick was out of his chair in an instant, his face pressed close to Helen's. She took a step back, clearly rattled by the uncharacteristic reaction. "Shut your mouth!"

"Ah, a little close to the mark, was I? You know Stephen slept with me? He was so sweet and so attentive. You, of course, were far too busy to bother about me."

"I don't believe you."

Helen shrugged. "Have it your own way. But you remember when you were so busy wanting promotion to principal lecturer and you were in here 'til all hours, and at conferences, and working on papers. I was lonely without you."

"Helen, I don't know you any more and I don't like you. I want you to leave and to stay away from me and my project."

"Sorry Nick, you know that's never going to happen. And I think you'll find it's my project. You and your bunch of spooks and soldiers are Johnny-Come-Latelys. You can play all you like in your fancy new laboratories, but you'll never achieve a quarter of what I've discovered. If only you’d come with me when I gave you the chance …"

Nick closed his eyes momentarily, not trusting himself to speak. When he opened them, Helen was gone. The only indication she'd ever been there was a faint aroma of apples, and a fire door at the far end of the corridor closing with a hiss.

~*~*~*

"I'm delighted to say that we're on course to open the ARC in the autumn." Lester smiled at the gathering like a basking shark. "I was waiting for confirmation of the new security arrangements and those are now in place."

Nick's head shot up. "What do you mean?"

Lester seemed about to make a smart-arsed comment, but instead said coldly: "The MoD is no longer willing to support the project when the Special Forces units are needed elsewhere in the world. So we shall be utilising a very well-respected security firm – run by a former SAS man, incidentally. I am satisfied that they will provide us with the assistance we require. Now, if there's nothing else …" Without waiting for an answer, Lester swept out of the room.

Abby stood up and grabbed her rucksack. "Come on, Connor, I want something to eat …"

"OK. Will you come with us, Professor?" Connor was regarding him nervously. 

And Nick suddenly hated himself for the way he was behaving and what it was doing to Abby and Connor. He'd seen her looking at him once or twice with real dislike. Connor just looked at him with pity, and that was almost worse – like the once-eminent professor turning into an old soak and being over-taken by his precocious student.

"I won't, thanks, Connor. I need to talk some more to Lester. I'll see you both later."

Lester was not amused by the interruption, but Nick ignored the acid comments and plonked himself down in a chair in front of the immaculate desk. "I want Stephen back," he said without preamble.

"We all want a lot of things we can't have, Cutter. Dr Hart has made his position perfectly clear. He's resigned from CMU and asked to stand down from the anomaly project. Seeing as press-ganging went out of fashion several centuries ago, and in view of his personal circumstances, I have naturally granted his wish. The ARC, when it's up and running, will have a team of scientists to support you. In the meantime, I'm sure you can manage perfectly adequately with the assistance of Miss Maitland and Mr Temple."

Nick opened his mouth to argue, but realised he simply couldn't summon the energy. He turned on his heel and went to look for Abby and Connor in the canteen.

Halfway down the stairs he passed Lyle and one of the other Special Forces soldiers going the other way. It was the tall guy who'd hustled him away from the ward when he'd tried to visit Ryan in hospital. Nick started to say hello to them, but they cut him dead. Just as he rounded the bend in the stairs, he heard one of them say: "Scottish cunt." Nick stopped and turned round. Lyle had paused as well, and was looking back, smirking, as if to say 'come and have a go if you think you're hard enough.' Nick closed his eyes, took a deep breath and carried on down the stairs.

Abby and Connor were in the far corner of the canteen, the remains of their lunch in front of them. Nick bought a sandwich and a cup of coffee, neither of which he really wanted, and went over to join them.

"… they had such a fabulous time, by the sound of it. They showed me the photos. They did lots of horse riding and slept in yurts." Abby looked up as Nick sat down, but kept talking, staring defiantly at him. "They both look really well. Stephen's happy and smiling all the time. I can't remember the last time he was so relaxed. And the fitness centre is great. It's really busy, and there's a very cool café in there that lots of people come in to use. They're going to start running adventure weekends as well. Stephen says it's the best decision he ever made, getting out of academia."

Nick had heard enough. He got up, sending cups and plates flying, and blundered out of the room.

~*~*~*

Later that night he sat down and wrote an email to Stephen. It was stream of consciousness, not edited and he hit send before he could change his mind. It disappeared into an electronic void. He'd lost count of how many he'd sent, none of which had received a reply. And Nick had also called Stephen's number up on his mobile, once or twice even letting it ring, but hanging up before there was any answer. He felt as if he had to cling on to this last link with Stephen.

The next morning he was on the train to Bristol. He'd never been there before, and a nagging voice in his aching head told him he was stupid to be doing this. But he hadn't been able to stop himself riffling through Abby's rucksack one day when she'd left it on the table, and scribbling down the address of the gym.

Nick found himself in a quiet side road off Whiteladies Road. There was a small café opposite the gym, so he went in, ordered coffee and a sandwich, and settled down to watch.

The fitness centre was housed in a neat, whitewashed building. It seemed busy, with people constantly going in and out. The café was clearly a refuge for students, and no one seemed fussed about Nick and his newspaper, particularly when he ordered several refills of coffee and a slice of fruit cake.

Late in the afternoon, Stephen and Ryan appeared, talking and laughing. Stephen was clad in a teeshirt and tracksuit bottoms and looked in fantastic shape. Ryan had lost weight and was walking with a slight limp, and Nick noticed that Stephen had cut his usual brisk pace so his partner could keep up with him. Nick dropped a £10 note on the table and followed them down the road, hanging back as far as he could. He saw them turn into a road of terraced houses and disappear into an end one. It looked neat, but unremarkable with its blue door and gravelled front with some flowers in pots.

Nick stood transfixed, staring at the house, wondering if he dared knock on the front door, but knowing he never would. He only moved when an old bloke with a dog passed him twice and asked him snappily the second time who he was looking for. Nick muttered something under his breath and walked back to the main road where he got on a bus for the railway station. It wasn't what the shrinks called closure, but he suspected it was as close as he was going to get.

~*~*~*

Abby was so angry she was almost crying. "What the fuck were you thinking of, Nick?"

"I don't know," he said miserably.

"Stephen was all for phoning the police and then taking an injunction out against you for harassment and stalking. He's got a folder of emails you've sent him, god knows how many hang-ups on his mobile and a picture of you sat on the wall during the civil partnership ceremony. And now you're bloody following him in person!"

"I didn't mean them to see me …"

"And that makes it better how?"

"It doesn't, but …"

"Did you really think that an ex-SAS officer and someone who's an expert tracker wasn't going to see you galumphing along behind them? You may have a brain the size of a planet, Nick, but you're really a very stupid man." And she stormed out and slammed the door so hard that a load of folders fell off the top shelf, their contents spreading like confetti across the office floor.

Nick started to gather them up, stuffing them any old how back into the folders. And then he realised what they were – rough drafts of a conference paper he'd been working on with Stephen, and plans they'd been making for a field trip to South America. He sat cross-legged on the floor and ripped them all into shreds.

~*~*~*

The ARC saga was threatening to rival Noah's trip. Every time a date was mentioned, a fresh glitch would occur. Nick tried to shut his ears to the wrangling over contractors and staffing and security. His request to be on the interview panel for the scientists had been given short shrift by Lester, so since then he'd let the Home Office brigade get on with it. So he had no idea why he'd been summoned to what Lester's PA had said was to be a meeting about resources. They'd barely started when the phone rang.

Nick realised he was gawping. He'd never seen Lester lose his cool before, and he'd certainly never heard him swear quite so inventively. Whoever was at the other end of the telephone was presumably holding it at arm's length. 

Abby touched Nick's arm. "Let's go, Nick."

"But …"

"We're not going to get any commonsense out of him for the time being."

The canteen was busy, so Abby grabbed a table while Nick and Connor bought coffees and sandwiches. Nick took a huge mouthful of a dry ham and cheese sandwich and grimaced, chasing it down with over-sweet lukewarm coffee.

He slammed the mug down on the table. "Lester makes me bloody sick …" 

"Cut him some slack, Nick."

"Why? He's a patronising twat."

"Lyle's off in Afghanistan."

"So?" Nick was confused.

"God, Nick, d'you live in a cave? They've been an item for months."

"What?"

"Lyle. And. Lester. Are. An. Item." Abby enunciated each word perfectly.

"Fuck."

"Yes, that as well, I expect."

"I thought Lester was married with kids."

"Divorced with kids."

"How long's it been going on for?"

Abby shrugged. "Not sure. Not long after Stephen and Ryan started going out."

"Must be bloody catching," muttered Nick.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that."

"I'm sorry. I'm not homophobic."

"Yeah, so you say, but I don't care for some of your comments. You need to stop behaving like a tosser. I'll see you tomorrow, Nick." Abby stood up and walked out without looking back. Connor followed her, casting nervous glances over his shoulder.

~*~*~*

Nick stared again at the email open on his screen. Claudia was resigning from her job and taking a year out to travel round the world. She was having a leaving-do in a fortnight and hoped as many people as possible would come. He hit delete, consigning it to oblivion, and hating himself for the fact that they'd be parting on bad terms.

Claudia had turned up on his doorstep the night before, and had insisted on coming in, despite his protestations of being busy. She'd pushed past him, marched into the living room and flung open all the windows. Then she'd done the same in the kitchen before running a bowl of scalding-hot washing up water and dropping mugs and plates into it.

"Nick, you can't go on like this …"

He'd shrugged, unable to trust his voice.

"I've come to tell you that I've handed in my notice today and that I want you to come with me. You need some time out and a chance to get your head together again. You can come back to the project later."

"Claudia, I can't … I can't let the whole thing fall apart any more than it has. I owe it to Abby and Connor to try to pick up the pieces."

"You don't owe anybody anything, Nick. And now's the time to get out. I keep hearing whispers that Lester might soon be sidelined on the project."

"You're joking."

"No."

"What have you heard?"

"Nothing concrete. Just whispers."

"In that case I have to stay. I can't see this project being wrecked by some idiot playing politics. Claudia, please stay and help me."

"I can't. I have to go."

They'd stared at each for a moment or so, then hugged awkwardly. Claudia had picked up her bag and left without another word.

~*~*~*

"Abby, what's wrong?" Nick sat down on the wall beside her, longing to put his arm around her, but not daring to.

"Adey's been killed and Finn and Ditzy have been wounded …"

"What?" For a moment he couldn't work out what she was talking about.

"The Special Forces soldiers. They're being flown home from Afghanistan. Joel emailed me last night."

"Joel?"

"Captain Stringer," said Connor quietly.

Nick nodded. "D'you know what happened?"

"No. Oh god, I can't believe it! Adey was going to take me to a rugby match when he got back."

Nick finally placed which one Adey was – the big, black lad with a cheerful smile and a broad London accent. He'd heard on the grapevine that the soldier was a good rugby player. He rubbed his eyes. So much waste. So much death. But it confirmed for him that he had to keep going, to try to stop any more people being killed.

~*~*~*

The whole building felt like a mausoleum and suddenly Nick had this horrible, vivid dream of being locked in and buried alive. He shuddered, trying to ignore the fact his hands were shaking. All around him removal men were carrying boxes and crates in.

"OK, Prof … Nick?" Connor seemed constantly nervous around Nick, unable to cope with the transition from student to colleague. He'd got his first class honours degree as predicted, but it seemed to have been forgotten in the excitement of the move to the ARC and the fact that he and Abby now had proper contracts.

"I'm fine."

"Wow, me and Abby have got our own office! And oh my god, just look at that lab …"

Nick left Abby and Connor unpacking boxes in their new office, and went into his. He'd hated it on sight, and had negotiated to keep his old room at CMU, on the grounds that this was a secondment for a year in the first instance and he'd still be doing some lectures. The Dean seemed to think he'd be rejoining them in 12 months. Nick didn't feel inclined to say that returning held no attraction for him now Stephen was no longer there.

He'd brought just one box of belongings over, and stared at it for some time before peeling back the packing tape and shoving the books desultorily onto a shelf. He showered a handful of biros into the desk drawer, throwing a notebook in after them.

Nick stared at the remaining object for the longest before gently placing it on the desk where he could see it. It was a photo of him, Stephen, Abby, Claudia and Connor laughing at the dodos. It reminded him of everything he'd once had. And he knew that he could never be that happy ever again.


End file.
